#kcd2 dry devil

He didn’t give a toss about having a child. He was in charge of the estate now, Hynek I of Kunstat, and by God he would take advantage of that power in any way he could. His father had died earlier that year, and with the title came responsibility, and with responsibility came boredom, and with boredom came indulgence in every vice he could find.

Anicka was in Blansko. She had said so in the first and last letter she’d sent him. He couldn’t write back. He couldn’t bear acknowledging that she was there, alive, while he was here—married to a pale ghost he didn’t love, running Kunstat like a bored tyrant. She could be tending another man’s child by now, teaching him to call her “mother,” ruling a little household without him. But no—he doubted that. She wasn’t stupid. She was spirited. She was stubborn. She wouldn’t roll over for some man she barely knew. And maybe she had found someone who was worthy of her. That thought made his hands clench into fists until his knuckles ached.

Then there was politics. Jobst and Prokop. Fucking ridiculous, even by noble standards. A relatively even split of the land wasn’t enough—they went to war over it. Naturally, Hynek had to ally with Prokop. His father had arranged it, and Prokop had kept his word of promised protection. Jobst had begun raiding Prokop-allied settlements. Kunstat would be next if he didn’t ride south.

Meetings with the council in Brno loomed. Life would be easier if they just fought instead of talking, Hynek thought, but no such luck. And if their ride took them through Blansko, that was alright too… Hynek could pretend he didn't yearn to see Anicka, but it would be in vain. Even his cousin, Petr had noticed his descent into madness when one of his advisors suggested a different route that wouldn't take them through the town. It was at least a four hour ride, good enough to rest and refuel before the longer ride down to Brno.

The road to Blansko was narrow, bordered by oaks and beeches. The air was still crisp with morning chill, and the rhythmic clop of hooves against dirt echoed through the quiet forest. Hynek rode in the center, Petr on his right, Jan on his left.

“Should I be expecting to find some noble bastard in this town, cousin?” Petr said, grinning.

Hynek didn’t bother looking at him. He gripped his reins tighter, the leather creaking. “You’d be disappointed. My cock seems unable to produce heirs when it has not entered this certain person’s cunt.”

“You’re a dirty-mouthed fucker, Devil,” Petr said.

How on earth did that nickname stick? He'd take fucker as a nickname over Dry Devil.

“Speak for yourself. I’ve heard you blaspheme like a heretic when you’re balls-deep at one of the bathhouses.”

Jan barked a laugh. Petr rolled his eyes. Hynek allowed a small, vicious grin, but it didn’t reach his scars.

The road opened to fields and farmland as Blansko drew near. The town lay half-hidden beneath the morning haze, the Svitava River flowing lazily to the south, lined by cattle and the occasional cart loaded with grain. The manor house loomed in the center, half-timbered and solid, with small outbuildings and an orchard surrounding it. Surprisingly, for the chaos of war in nearby lands, Blansko was mostly untouched.

Jan dismounted, low-voiced. “I’ll handle Erhart. You go do what you need.”

Hynek nodded, grateful. “Drink’s on me later,” he muttered.

He made for the inn. Inside, the warm stink of smoke, ale, and unwashed bodies made him feel right at home. “I’m looking for Anicka, a woman with dark hair?” he asked.

The innkeeper nodded. “North end of town. Farms that way.”

Hynek dropped a groschen on the counter and left, stepping back into the crisp morning air. Fields stretched ahead, tilled and fertile, dotted with peasants bending over their work.

Every movement in the fields, every shadow made him pause. Could it be her? Had she been waiting for him—or indifferent to his existence?

Hynek’s chest tightened. Two years of imagining this moment, of constructing it in endless daydreams, all boiled down to this one stretch of dirt road, these tilled fields, these tiny glimpses of life that might be hers. His fists clenched and unclenched. He wanted to run forward, seize her, curse the years she’d been gone, curse himself for letting her leave.

But he didn’t. Not yet. He waited in the shadow of the nearest birch tree, eyes sharp, every muscle coiled. Watching. Waiting.

Dark hair caught the morning sun, bundled up into a stained white coif, strands escaped to brush against her sweaty brow. She was bent over the rows of vegetables, sleeves rolled to her elbows, forearms taut and even more tanned from work.

Her dark green dress was stained with mud at the bottom hem, which swished against the ground, a white shift poking through the bottom of her skirts. Stained just as he remembered. Hynek felt as if he was 14 again, running from his father into the forest and hunting with her. A youthful unawareness of how separate their lives would be in just a few short years. She looked every bit the spirited, impossible girl he remembered—practical, stubborn, unyielding. And yet… still completely her.

Hynek tried to calm himself, breathing in and out. She had no idea he was there, no idea how much he had missed her, how much he had ruined himself waiting. And the thought made him want to curse God, the devil, and the entire bloody world for letting her be here, alive, and just out of reach.

When he finally approached the gate, one hand resting on the wood for a moment before he swallowed his pride and opened it. She immediately turned at the noise, seemingly startled. Hynek couldn't clearly see her face with the sun mostly in his eyes, but she was walking towards him, had dropped the basket she was carrying and began running.

“Hynek!” She exclaimed as she barrelled into him. Hugging him ridiculously close, with both arms fixed at his side. They were both twenty-one, too grown to act as children would. But it was too tempting. He wrestled his arms out from her embrace and held her close to his chest.

“I've missed you,” He could smell the pine on her. The scent had always calmed him, especially after she had left.

“You didn't write. I thought… I thought you had decided just to leave me here. When you didn't send a letter, I- well, it's alright now anyway.” She withdrew, brushing down the front of her dress and staring up at him with a smile.

Hynek’s eyes had adjusted to the sun, and he looked over her face, expecting to see more freckles since being out in the sun or a bump on her stomach where some other man's child grew. But she looked exhausted, and the warmth of the reunion drained from his face when he saw it. Under her eye, an ugly purple blooming down towards her cheek, stained yellow at the edges: he reached forward and touched her cheek extremely lightly, causing Anicka to flinch. The rage that festered inside of him was unrelenting as he returned his hands to his side, and they clenched into fists.

“Was it your husband?”

“Hynek, please, I-”

“Was it your husband?” He repeated, and after a moment she nodded, looking down as if all life had been drained out of her. His voice sounded angrier than he wanted it to; the fact that he had been able to even minimally control his rage was a wonder. His body screamed at him to find the bastard who did this to her and cut out his fucking eyes. Hyenk looked further into the field, seeing a farmhouse, he moved past Anicka and strode with overwhelming purpose towards it.

“Please, Hynek, stop. It will only make things worse. I don’t want you to hurt him!” Anicka pulled on his arm as she ran to keep up with him.

“And why the hell not!” Hynek yelled back, turning to face her. His rage made her shrink back into herself, and it made him even angrier. Gone was the stubborn, carefree girl he knew- any spark of her individuality was snuffed out, all laughter buried beneath fear- it left behind a woman irrevocably different because of the pain.

“You turn up here without a word in years and want to kill the man that, despite your anger, is still my husband! This is my home, my life, and you can’t just decide you know better.” She stood holding onto his arm, rooting him to the spot even though he could easily wrestle from her grip.

I do know better. I have to. I failed her once, and I’ll not fail her again.

“He hurt you.” Hynek whispered, low and dangerous.

“You hurt me as well, not in the same way but you are not a better man just because you didn’t beat me. I felt so alone, abandoned by the one person I thought would care. Why didn’t you write to me?” Her gaze was overwhelmingly accusatory, hand slipping from gripping his arm- it felt like an immediate loss of warmth in his body.

“I couldn’t. Acknowledging that you were here and I couldn’t do anything about it was too painful to come to terms with. Loosing you was,” He paused. “Well I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“Poor. poor lordling. With your beautiful wife and silk sheets. Not having to do a day of work in your life unless you deem it appropriate. Control over your life in more ways than most have.” Her voice laced with ice, she let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I feel so very sorry for you, Sir.”

Sir? He winced at the word. Mud sucking at his boots as he lowered his voice. “Anicka, please. Let me take you back to the castle, be my wife’s maid or something I can-”

“You can’t click your fingers and fix everything!” she snapped, her eyes flashing up at him. "It won't fix how you left me, it won’t fix this,” She pointed to the bruise under her eye. “I am a part of your life you decided you could throw away.”

She’s right. I let her go. I abandoned her. And now I have to make this right, no matter what it costs me—or anyone else.

Hynek's throat tightened. He wanted to reach for her but stopped himself.“How did I throw you away? I wanted to marry you, keep you with me forever. You chose to leave and still stay loyal to your bastard husband!” His rage was borne of grief, uncontrolled grief he had not been able to express until this very moment.

“You didn’t want to marry me; you wanted to keep me.” Her voice wavered with eyes full of tears she had waited years to express. “You didn’t love me, Hynek. Not as I had loved you.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she took a deep breath before walking past him and picking up the basket she had dropped. Standing back up she straightened her shoulders, refusing to look back at him. He felt as if she had slapped him.

She’s slipping away from me again, even now. But this time, I won’t let her.

“Is that what you meant? All those years ago when you said you couldn't marry me?” He asked, calmer now as he followed after her.

“Yes. You Ox.” Her voice cracked and she took a deep breath before continuing. “I loved you for years, a deep childish love. I fooled myself into believing it was even somewhat reciprocated which made leaving a more attractive option. Seeing your marriage I- I couldn't do it.”

She crouched, lowering the basket to the mud and trying to pull up more crops. But her hands shook so violently that she fumbled with one of the stems and pulled out a half broken carrot. Staring at it for a moment where it dangled.

Hynek knelt down in the damp mud, his hose already ruined, he didn't care much. He could feel the water pooling around his knee as if it meant to root him in place until he finally fixed things. He reached for her hands and steadied them even as she half-heartedly tried to pull them away. Her hands were rough, as he remembered, calloused now with the work of the land rather than fletching.

“I was a stupid boy.” He whispered, eyes roaming over her face, just in case it was the last time. “Too concerned with his own problems to understand. Ever since you left I have thought of little else, but you. Every time I enter those damn forests I see you everywhere, you won't even leave me to hunt in peace.”

He smiled and a laugh bubbled out of her despite herself, raw and wet with tears. She hated that he could still pull it out of her. She tried to muffle it, pressing her lips together in protest. A tear flowing down the cheek that had been marked by her husband's fist.

“We never could have married, Hynek. No matter if we both wanted it.” Anicka gripped his hands as her own shook, overcome with the cocktail of emotions that had come to visit her front door.

“Why the hell not?” He was angrier now, but really it was the desperation leaking through. “I'm Lord now. I can marry who I please.”

“You are already married, as am I.”

“Why will you not let me take you away from that bastard?” He asked, exasperated.

“Because I would have nowhere to go. My husband will have all ownership over my decisions. I cannot get up and leave when I feel like it. Hynek, my husband will be home soon, you need to go.” But she didn't let go of his hands.

“I know you want me to stay.” He got closer to her then. “All you have to do is say it and I'll gut that fucking pig. You'll come back to the estate and not be bothered by a single man unless you want it to be so.” He was trying his hardest not to raise his voice and scare her further.

“I-” she paused, seemingly floored by the suggestion. “Would it even work? They would know it was me. He has no family nearby but they might come and check.”

“I could say he joined the army, and you joined as a healer, he died in some siege.” She tilted her head in consideration, a level of hope behind her eyes.

No one will suspect. I will make sure. I will bear the cost. She must live free of him, free of this fear.

There was a pregnant silence that fell over them, neither sure of what to say. As Anicka shifted the mud squelched beneath her boots, she was staring down at Hynek's hands. Whisky she should have pulled away, she did not.

“You could not hide such a thing,” she whispered at last. “Not forever. People would talk. The priest would demand to know why my husband no longer attends Mass, why his fields are left untended. The reeve would come sniffing, then the steward.” Her breath came quick, shallow. “And if anyone learned you had come here…” She broke off, biting her lip until the taste of iron filled her mouth.

Hynek shook his head sharply. “Let them wonder. I am a Lord, Anicka. My word pays more than gold these days. A dozen peasants could vanish in the night and it would scarcely ripple. One drunken swine of a husband would be no different. I would say he marched to war. I would sign the writ myself.”

Her eyes flew to his, wide with horror, though there was something else beneath it—something shameful, dangerous, something like belief. “You speak of killing a man as though it were a loose board to be mended.”

“He is no man,” Hynek snarled, his voice low but venomous. “He is merely a chain that keeps you in this place, a stain on your life that you would be better without.” His grip tightened slightly and then loosened at her fearful gaze. “No one will dare question it, I will do anything and everything to make that so.”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before looking past him. At the little waterside town she had been trying to make a life in. She tried to think of happy memories here, a day where she didn't want to run. But it was impossible. Her husband's heavy footing entered the doorway, he'd just come from the tavern. The sting of his hand and the stench of ale. Her mother warned her before she died that wives are ‘bound as tightly as serfs to their husbands’. Had she messed it all up? Maybe she should've run away when her father made her come here, fight against him even more than she had. But he was getting old. There would have been no point making him lose his wife and also his daughter.

Her eyes flicked to him, searching his face, and for a moment he thought she might agree. But then she looked away, shaking her head softly as though entertaining the thought was a deadly sin.

“I cannot.” she whispered. “If I give the word, it will be my sin. His blood will stain me even if my hands never touch the knife.”

Hynek’s chest heaved, every breath tailed with the anger he had tried to swallow. His gaze was lingering on her, noting it all: the bruise, the tear streaked cheeks, and the quiet wisps of rebellion she tried to hide. She wouldn’t ask. Couldn't. And that was why he must.

“You don't need to say it,” he murmured, low and steady now. “I have heard enough.”

Her brow furrowed. “Hynek—”

I know. I will do it. And she will be free, whatever the cost.

He released her hands and rose from the mud, the chill biting at him.

Two years. Two years of cowardice. Two years of silence while she was dragged into a life I should have fought to stop. I was a boy then, too foolish to act. Too weak. Not anymore.

“I’m not leaving you in his shadow. If you won’t speak it, I’ll speak for both of us.”

She won’t forgive me easily. She has every reason to hate me. But I can’t let that stop me. Not now.

“Don’t you dare.” she snapped, yanking upright so fast the basket toppled, carrots rolling into the dirt. Her chest heaved, eyes blazing. “You think showing up and taking control will fix it all?”

She’s right to be furious. I deserve every word. And yet… letting her go again, doing nothing—I can’t live with that.

“I’ve thought about nothing else for years!” Hynek said, stepping closer, shoulders tense. “Every day I’ve pictured this moment. And now I know what I can do. What I must do!”

“You think you can fix it with your hands or some steel?” she spat, fists trembling. “I’m not some girl who needs saving! And even if I went with you, back to the castle—you think the servants and the ladies wouldn’t talk? I’d be whispered about as the lord’s whore before a week passed! That’s my life you’re offering me? Do you want me ruined?”

“I don’t care what they say.” he said, voice low and steady, battle-worn. “I’ve carried guilt for years. I let your father take you, let that man have you. This is the only way I can make it right. My hand. My choice. Not anyone else’s.”

Her eyes flashed with fury. “You don’t get it. I care! I can’t walk into that castle and face their whispers, their stares! You don’t seem to understand what that will do to me!”

I do understand. I know the whispers, the stares, the way they’ll brand her. And yet, if I don’t act… she’ll never be free. Never truly alive. Maybe he'd kill her.

“I understand more than you think,” he said quietly, his gaze locked on hers. “I’ve seen enough death, enough dishonor, to know when something must be done. You’ll be free, Anicka. You just have to hold on a little longer.”

“Free?” Her voice cracked, half scream, half plea. “You call this freedom? Living in someone else’s house, serving your wife, whispered about as just a scandal in your life? I’ve fought to survive, Hynek. I’ve clawed my way through the world on my own. And you… you think this is freedom?”

“I’ll bear it,” he said, knuckles brushing lightly over her bruised cheek, a strange gentleness juxtaposing the storm in his eyes. “All of it. Every risk, every consequence. Not you. Not anyone else. Me. I’ll carry it so you don’t have to. It is worth every risk.”

Worth it—not because she owes me. Not because I need thanks. Worth it because I failed her once, and I refuse to fail her again. This is my penance, my choice, and the only right thing I can do.

“I don’t want you to!” she cried, shaking her head. “I don’t want your blood for me. I don’t want to owe you. I won’t be ‘saved’ as if I am a powerless, pitiful woman ”

She's right. Of course she's right. Frustratingly intelligent woman. I wish there was another way. There is no other. Only this one. 

“I failed you once. I won’t again,” he said firmly. “I won’t let him touch you. I won’t let him control you. You’ll live, Anicka.”

She laughed, bitter and sharp, stepping back. “And what then? You think I’ll just march into that castle and start smiling at your wife? You think I’ll be anything but a scandal, a story whispered in every corner? Do you think I want to be the lord’s whore?”

Let them talk. Let them whisper. I cannot live with her death or humiliation at his hands. I will bear the scandal, the blood, the consequences. I am ready.

“You’ll have a chance to live,” he said, voice steady. “That’s all I can give you. The rest—your life—is yours.”

“But at what cost?” she shouted. “You risk yourself, you risk everything, and for me? Why risk it all for me?”

“Because it’s you,” he said quietly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Because I let you go once, and I won’t let myself do it again. I’ve been a fool and a coward long enough. You’ll survive. You’ll have your life. He won’t touch you—not him, not anyone. I carry this because I must, and because you’re worth every risk.”

I’m not acting out of romance or fantasy. I’m acting because I failed you before. I’m acting because I can bear the cost. I’m acting because you deserve to live on his terms, and I’ll do everything to give you that chance.

Her hands fell to her sides, fingers trembling around the empty basket. She stared at him, torn between relief and fury, longing and dread.

Without another word, he turned and strode down the rutted path, mud swallowing his steps.

She stayed like that, in the field, trembling, staring after him. Rage, fear, and defiance twisted together in her chest. For the first time in years, she felt the weight of fate shift—but whether toward freedom or ruin, she couldn’t yet tell.

*°*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”°*

The three of them rode hard along the sun-baked track, the wagons trailing dust clouds behind. Jan nudged his horse closer to Hynek.

“Lord Devil,” he said with a grin, “you’ve been staring at the trees like you’re hunting ghosts instead of Brno. Did one of the spirits from Blansko follow you here?”

Hynek smirked. “If one did, I’d gut the fucker before breakfast and roast it all nice for supper.”

Petr laughed. “Aye, that sounds about right, Devil. Still brooding, or just lost in your own head?”

“Brooding?” Hynek snorted. “No. I’m just imagining whose arse I’ll kick first when we get there. And some of it will be out of sheer boredom—Brno won’t be anything but a room full of pompous tossers droning on about sieges and bloody treaties. I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than sit politely through it all.”

Jan laughed. “Ah, so the detour to Blansko wasn’t enough excitement, eh? You’ll be chained to a table for hours while Prokop and his Lords prattle on like hens squabbling over scraps.”

Hynek grinned. “Better the road than listening to that idiot. I'd rather gut a dozen pigs and piss on the remains than endure him politely.”

Petr leaned in, smirking. “Ah, so it is a detour worth making. Did you find trouble in Blansko, or just a maiden’s temper?”

Hynek barked a dark laugh.“Maidens? Ha! No maiden’s interested in me, cousin. You’d have better luck finding a nun in a brothel than finding one wasting her temper on this ugly bastard.”

Jan snorted. “Quiet, Devil. You’ve gone suspiciously serious for once. What’s gnawing at you—debts, dice, or just your own bloody conscience?”

Hynek shrugged. “Conscience? Never met the bastard. And if I did, I’d have him in the ground before he bored me with sermons.”

Petr let out a bark of laughter. “Saints preserve us—Lord Hynek, killer of conscience. You’ll have the priests choking on their incense with that one.”

Jan leaned over in his saddle, grinning. “Don’t mind him, Petr. Devil here’s only sour because he’s riding to Brno instead of into some wench’s bed. He’s dreading the paperwork, the sermons, the endless gob of Prokop.”

Hynek cracked a grin. “Endless gob’s the only thing Prokop’s good at. Christ, I’d rather tally plague carts rolling past the gate — at least they clear the filth quicker.”

Petr snickered. “Careful—say that too loud and Prokop will lop off your cock, mount it on the wall, and call it a trophy for discipline.”

“Or worse, you’ll be kicking your own bollocks round the hall when he loses his temper- Prokop’s temper is much shorter than his cock.” Jan looked over at Hynek, wiggling his eyebrows- Hynek just rolled his eyes. 

“Let him try,” Hynek shot back, smirking. “He swings slower than a gelded ox.”

The cousins roared with laughter. Jan wiped his eyes. “By God, Devil, you’ve got more bile in you than a drunk. You sound like you’re planning a fight. Should we be sharpening blades, then?”

Hynek’s grin bent darker. “Worth sharpening, aye. Some things are worth more than all the gold in Brno. And I’ve got some bloody plans”

Jan chuckled, shaking his head. “All brooding and grim, Devil. Next you’ll be telling us you’ve found faith—or worse, a mistress.”

Petr grinned. “If he’s lost her, she’s probably better off. Safer kissing a bear than warming your bed, cousin.”

Hynek barked a laugh, crude and cutting. “If I’ve found anything, it’s trouble. And if any bastard tries to stand in my way, I’ll gut him like a pig, roast his cock for supper, and feed his liver to the dogs. They can curse me from Hell’s arsehole after—I won’t lose sleep.”

The cousins laughed with him, trading nudges and grins, oblivious to the storm barely contained behind his eyes. Under the mask of humour, something hotter, darker, and far more dangerous simmered, waiting for the right moment to boil over.

*°*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”°*

The city of Brno rose ahead, red-tiled roofs glowing in the late afternoon sun. The stone hall smelled of damp timber and sweating men, mixed with the faint tang of burnt tallow. Hynek slid onto the bench beside Jan and Petr, ignoring the stiff cushions and polite bows of the scribes. To the court, he was Lord Hynek of Kunstat. To Jan and Petr, he remained the Devil.

“Ah, Lord Devil,” Jan whispered. “Try not to murder anyone before the meeting begins, eh? Prokop looks sensitive.”

Hynek smirked. “Sensitive? That prick? I’d sooner shove a dagger where the sun don’t shine than let him think he matters. Sensitivity doesn’t get wars won.”

Petr snickered. “You do look… dangerous, Devil. A glare like that could gut a dozen men before they even speak.”

Hynek leaned back, arms crossed, smirking. “Better a dozen men than sitting through Prokop’s bloody lectures. If he opens his mouth one more time about levies, I’ll carve the table into something more useful—like firewood.”

Prokop cleared his throat, thick and pompous. “Lord Hynek of Kunstat, are you prepared to supply a retinue?”

Hynek inclined his head, voice polite but firm. “Aye, sir. Archers or men on foot, whichever you require. I shall provide the numbers you request in due course.”

Prokop pressed further. “I must have specifics. How many men can I count on for the northern fortifications?”

Hynek kept his expression carefully neutral. “Sufficient, sir. I will ensure they are ready when called.”

Behind his calm mask, Hynek’s jaw tightened. Sufficient. Christ, you’d count them like pigs in a pen if I gave you a figure. I’ve seen men fall in fire and mud while you fools debate strength.

Jan nudged him under the table. “Careful, Devil. Keep that look on your face and they’ll think you’re planning to slit someone’s throat.”

Hynek snorted quietly. “Plotting? Only in my head, for now.”

Petr leaned closer. “You weren’t even listening, were you? He wants numbers.”

Hynek grinned darkly, voice low so only the cousins could hear. “Aye, I heard. My men fight, my men survive—how many I send is my business. That’s the only count that matters.”

Jan chuckled. “Since when did you get sentimental, Devil?”

Hynek’s grin sharpened. “Not sentimental. Just alive. And I plan to keep them that way.”

Hours dragged by. Prokop droned. Men argued over boundaries, levies, and minor disputes as if the world depended on them. Hynek endured it with a smile that looked polite enough for the nobles but sharp enough to frighten anyone who knew him.

The meeting finally adjourned, and Hynek stood, cracking his neck with a snap that made the scribes flinch. Dust rose from his boots as he strode toward the door.

Jan and Petr followed, laughing quietly. “Well, Devil, survived another one. Brno can’t kill you yet.”